


at long last, i'm home

by sumirufus



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: F/M, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Game(s), ive dedicated my life to silviafam, speculative fix it fic, the ares/lene is kind of background but still important, this is also the most self indulgent thing ive ever written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2020-04-08 00:51:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19096396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumirufus/pseuds/sumirufus
Summary: In a world slowly mending the wounds of war, a long-separated family are pulled back together. (lene, coirpre, silvia)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> im supposed to be rewriting blue skies but i have been working on this for longer and im happier with it so uh. here we are. anyone who has spent 4 minutes in my company knows i'd kill and die for lene fire emblem so this whole fic is just the most self-indulgent headcanon based good ending i could possibly try and give her
> 
> EDIT: TFW YOU HAVENT POSTED IN SO LONG U FORGET NOT TO MARK THIS A ONESHOT GOD DAMMIT

“You’re going back to Thracia, Coirpre?” Lene asks as she twirls absently, moving through steps he’s fairly sure she can do in her sleep. Watching Lene dance simultaneously relaxes and energises him; he never thought he’d like dancers much, always felt too nervous around them, but their army’s dancer is different, always graceful, always caring.

“Yes,” He responds, absently tapping his foot to a rhythm he can’t hear — Lene adjusts her movements accordingly, though Coirpre isn’t quite sure if she’s done it on purpose or instinctually. “I want to help Father in any way I can, when we return.”

“Oh,” She stills for a moment, just a half-beat in her rhythm, and shoots him a look he can’t quite place — apology, and something else. “I… Forgot you had your father to think about. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Silence falls again as Lene continues her practice, with the addition of a hummed melody he vaguely recalls, leaving Coirpre to his thoughts. The reality of the war, and the reality that it has _ended_ , still haven’t quite sunk in to him; so much has happened in what feels like such a short space of time nothing quite feels real. At the present moment in time, he and Lene are passing the time in the courtyard of Belhalla Castle, having resided along with the Liberation Army in the sprawling building for the past few weeks as Lord Seliph busied himself in the restoration of the continent. Truthfully, the deeper politics and family ties of the matter are far too hazy for Coirpre to understand (he’s sure Lene thinks the same), so he is merely content to return to Thracia with his father and the others, when all is said and done.

“Where will you go, Lene?”

Unusually for her, she appears slightly embarrassed at his question, but a smile forms on her face nonetheless, an elegant sweep of her leg almost serving to accentuate her point.

“Heading to Agustria with Ares,” She sounds so pleased, Coirpre can’t help but smile for her. “Don’t tell anyone yet, but he asked me to marry him! I mean, I’d been waiting to hear that for a while, obviously, but I didn’t expect right _now._ Says Sir Seliph — I mean, King Seliph now — wants him to rule Agustria, too. Bet that’d make Sir Eldigan really proud, don’t you think?”

She finally draws her movements to a stop as she speaks, the fabric looped around her bracelets fluttering gracefully in the light of the setting sun. Dutifully, Coirpre gives her a little round of applause, to which she responds with a quick curtsey, though she has no great layers of skirts to grasp.

“Doesn’t that make you the future queen, if Ares is going to be king?” He pipes up, tilting his head curiously. She scrunches her nose, flopping down on the bench next to him with a rather over-dramatic sigh at that.

“I suppose it does. I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet, honestly,” She swings her legs even as she sits, some part of her always in movement. The bangles around her ankles tinkle pleasantly. “When I do think about it, I keep thinking that a dancer from the streets without a drop of noble blood or family to her name isn’t good enough for a king of a great nation, even though he’s still _Ares_. Isn’t that silly? I’ve loved him for far longer, always knowing he’s a noble, but still… Now of all times, I feel as afraid, even though nothing makes me happier than being by his side.”

“I think I understand,” Coirpre says, though he doesn’t _really_. He’s always had his father, blood-relation or not, he’s had _family_ , a home to call his own, someone who’d support and comfort him no matter what. Lene doesn’t have that, hasn’t ever, and he wonders how lonely she’s truly been for so long. He doesn’t know what to say to her, truthfully, so he settles for: “Everything is moving so quickly, isn’t it? Like nothing we went through really happened.”

“Exactly,” She nods, closing her eyes. “I almost wish I could go back to how things were before, just without the… Evil dragon?” Her nose scrunches again. “Coirpre, you can’t tell anyone, but I had no idea what the hell that was all about.”

It’s such an honest, blunt statement he can’t help but start laughing, as much as he tries desperately to stifle it. It’s so like her to say exactly what Coirpre desperately tries to hide, and it’s what he appreciates about her company. Dancers, he’s found, are rather upfront when push comes to shove, and yet the manners that should be off-putting to him are comforting coming from Lene. She kicks at him, gently, as he tries to calm himself.

“I’m sorry,” He wheezes, and the blank stare she gives him just sets him off again. “I didn’t either, I swear! I just didn’t expect you to say it like that.”

“You’re terrible,” She pokes his forehead reproachfully, but he’s pleased to see her smile has returned. “You better not treat your father like this, young man.”

“I’d never! You’re the only one who makes me like this, Lene.”

“How rude! You think it’s alright to make light of me because I’m a dancer, little lording?” She advances on him like a predator, a wicked smile adorning her lips. “Take _this!_ ” She grasps hold of him as he squirms and shrieks, tickling his sides as fast as she can possibly manages while he attempts his escape, and the courtyard is filled with the sounds of their laughter.

This is nice, he thinks, even as he tries to flee from her hold. He’ll miss this, when they part. Spending time with Lene was a coincidence, but knowing her has been a happy one. Dare he even think it, perhaps this is what having a sister is like.

When she finally relents, breathless though he is, he straightens himself out as best he can. He’s thankful for the exertion colouring his cheeks, because it hides his embarrassment nicely as he asks “Lene, can I hug you?”

She blinks. He considers taking back his statement, but then her eyes soften with affection — not the same kind she has for Ares, but the same sort of kindness that twinkles in his father’s eyes when he ruffles Coirpre’s hair, and he feels as though this is _right_.

“Silly, you don’t have to ask,” She hugs him first, despite his request. Her perfume wafts through the air, familiar and warm, and leaning his head on her allows him to hear her steady heartbeat. For a moment, he thinks he’s going to cry, simply because he’s going to miss her so much. Supporting the army from the backlines, the two of them protecting each other in battle, sharing their rations together… He wishes he had the courage to tell her “come live with Father and I in Thracia”, but he knows she’ll never leave Ares’ side. He’s almost bitter, thinking of it, when she could live a happy life with him and Father as _family_ , rather than leave her to her insecurities he’s sure she hasn’t breathed a word of to her fiance.

“I’ll miss you. I don’t want you to go.” He says instead, and he _does_ cry, just a little bit. Lene cards her fingers through his hair, leaning her cheek on his head, and it occurs to him that she might be crying a little, too.

“I’ll miss you too, Coirpre. So much. You must promise to write to me. Or come and visit. I’ll come see you when I can too, is that okay?”

“Of course,” He sniffles. “I’ll write to you every day. And I’ll bring you lots of presents from Thracia, too.” This makes her laugh, though it’s thick with tears.

“I won’t be able to reply to them all if you do that,” She scolds him gently. “And you’d be better spending your money on things for yourself. That’s what you can do for me, okay?”

“But I want to,” He protests, and she pokes his head again with an ‘absolutely not’. Coirpre isn’t sure how long he spends clinging to her, after that; time seems to hold still for them as they sniffle quietly.

Eventually, though, he pipes up once more.

“Lene?”

“Yes?”

“Is it alright if… If I call you Sister?”

“Oh, Coirpre, I _just_ stopped crying,” She protests, but the smile in her voice assures him. “Of course you can, dear. Of course you can.”

When he and his father set off for Thracia with Prince Leif and the others, Lene waves their carriage off until Coirpre can no longer see her over the horizon.

* * *

 

Agustia is stifling, and Lene finds herself longing for Darna more than expected. The verdant plains of Agustia are nice, but the grass does not dance beneath her feet the way the sands of the desert did, and the castle seems to swallow her whole every time she stops moving.

She’s not cut out for this sort of life, nameless dancer that she is. Ares blends in with nobles perfectly, of course he does — she teases him for his prim and proper manners for them when he’s so _rough_ with her, to which he swats her away (even as he goes red to his ears, gods bless him), but there’s a very real part of her that always _begrudges_ him for being so good at this. If he were as clueless as her, perhaps she’d feel better being by his side. But they are no longer the mercenary Ares and the dancer Lene, he is King Ares of Agustria and she is to be Queen Lene, except Lene isn’t very queen-like at all and everyone knows it.

Her attire is the first thing the nobles pick on — though she’s much colder in Agustria than she ever was in Darna (“It’s not _that_ cold, Lene, you don’t need a winter coat in this weather!” Ares had teased her once in retaliation) and her robes are more modest than she’s used to, a dancer’s clothing is still _scandalous_ to prettied ladies with layers of skirts and corsets so tight that Lene wonders how they even breathe. The next thing, her personality; it’s unbecoming to speak one’s mind so frankly in court, apparently, and though she’d let them know exactly what she’d thought of _that_ , in retrospect she feels she just proved their point.

All she is to them, after all, is a common girl without a bloodline their King has taken a fancy to, when he would be _much_ better off with some noble daughter with a demure smile and calculating eyes. Of course, she thinks that’s a load of wyvern shit, because the two of them have been together far too long for anyone to come between them, and she trusts him more than anyone else on this earth. She knows Ares would never be ashamed of her, and she also happens to know that Diarmuid has had to restrain their King from punching a few people over this very issue, but it is no less difficult to deal with when the disapproval comes in a constant barrage.

She misses Coirpre more and more with each passing day. She misses teasing him, sharing their desserts, anything — his absence, the absence of _family,_ the first she’s had, is a wound that hurts more with every discontented stare her way.

It’s a relief, then, that his first letter arrives within two weeks of her arrival in her new home. She’d practically torn the envelope out of Diarmuid’s hands when he’d announced its existence, so eager was she to read it. Tucked away in her private quarters (because she and Ares aren’t _officially married_ yet it’s _inappropriate_ for her to sleep with him — utter rubbish, she thinks, but she’s garnered enough disapproval, she can’t make things more difficult for him) she slices the parchment as cleanly as she can with a needle she’d nicked from the maids, and smoothes out the paper as though she’s handling a treasure. It _is_ a treasure, to her; her first letter from her family.

 _Sister,_ it opens, and she feels a rush of warmth flood her very soul. She runs her thumb over the ink of the word, just to enjoy the feeling knowing that he still wants to call her as such.

_I hope you are well in Agustia. I suppose you’ll find it much colder than Darna. You must keep yourself warm! The last thing anyone needs is you getting sick._

Lene snorts, but the wry smile spreads nonetheless. Cheeky little thing, now that he’s a safe distance away! She’ll show him next time she visits.

_Father and I have arrived safely home in Thracia, and we’re working hard with Lord Leif and Lady Altenna. Things are chaotic right now, and many people don’t truly know what’s going on… There’s a lot of hurt and resentment in the aftermath of it all. But I won’t simply hide away! I’m doing the best I can every day to do something good for the people that I can. I want to show you how strong Thracia is when you come to visit._

Again, her heart squeezes with affection; he must be simply adorable running around helping out. She’d pinch his cheeks if she could.

_I’m learning to grow crops to help feed the villagers where we live. Sometimes it’s very tiring work, but being able to see the smiles on people’s faces when they eat things I’ve grown makes me very happy. The people have lost so much, but they’re all working hard despite it all. They make me think of you, Sister, because no matter what happens, you kept smiling. I miss you every day, but the thought that I might be able to cheer people in the same way you do makes it a little bit easier._

And that was all Lene read before tears pricked her eyes. Was he a saint? An angel sent by the gods? Was it truly alright for him to think so kindly of her?

Lene closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. What has she done, next to Coirpre who is working so hard? Been pushed around by nobles? Allowed her fears to get the better of her? She can’t continue like this. She absolutely _won’t_ continue like this.

As the big sister, she should be setting an example for Coirpre. She certainly can’t let him down now.

 

* * *

 

“You want to _what?_ ”

Ares is adorable when he’s confused, in Lene’s humble opinion. He gets all wide-eyed and sometimes he even sputters when she catches him off-guard.

“Not want,” She corrects him and his expression goes from shocked to incredulous. “I’m going to Darna.”

Ares heaves a sigh so heavy that she snorts. The glare he shoots her way after only increases her amusement. He’s _such_ a drama queen, she thinks, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t love that part of him.

“Lene,” He sounds so, so tired. “Why?”

At that, Lene hops off her perch on the corner of his desk, careful not to bring his carefully organised documents with her. She’s serious now, and should treat the situation as such; it’s something Ares takes note of, she realises, because he sets down his quill to give her his full attention once she’s standing.

“All I’ve done here is hide away from nobles,” She begins slowly. Tact isn’t exactly her greatest virtue, but this deserves as much as she can manage. “The rest of the world is still recovering, and I’m just… Here. I’m in your way—”

“Who said that? Lene, tell me right away, I’ll have them thrown in the—”

“ _Ares,_ ” She cuts him off sharply, a single eyebrow raised. He grumbles something as he settles back into his chair, but he’s pouting — gods above, he really is adorable. How he isn’t aware of it is beyond her. Regardless, appreciation of her fiance's cute mannerisms must wait. “No one said that to me, I promise. But as I am right now, I’m just a dancer from the streets. I don’t have any real power here until we’re officially married, right? So I’m dead weight right now, because, like they all love to remind us, we can’t get married until the country settles down more since we’ll waste resources,” With every word out her mouth, his pout grows.

Lene takes a moment in what she hopes comes across as a very serious consideration of her next words, but is, in actual fact, an appreciation of how round Ares’ cheeks are right now.

“But I don’t want to sit around and wait anymore, Ares. Darna is my home, and it’s vulnerable. The whole Yied Desert area doesn’t have a lot to begin with, nevermind in the aftermath of a recent government collapse, even I know that much. I’d like to go and do something to help them.”

There’s a long silence once she’s done, but not an uncomfortable one. She’s just dumped a lot of things on Ares, after all, even though he’s already got a great deal to take care of.

“Alright. I know how much Darna means to you. You have my support,” He says finally. “But wait first. Yied doesn’t formally have a ruler, so I’ll need to request Seliph’s permission, then you’ll be able to go as an ambassador under official discretion of Grannvale and Agustria.”

“Won’t that put me in charge?”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“Well…” Lene kicks out her leg gently, gaze lowering to the faded rug beneath his desk. “It’s a little much responsibility to give _me_ , don’t you think?”

There’s another beat of silence, before Ares rises from his desk and before Lene can even react, she’s been swept into his arms. Instinctively, she nestles herself closer, hands coming up to grip at the fabric of his clothing; she has always felt safest in Ares’ embrace, and nothing has changed about that in all the time they’ve known each other.

“I hate what poison they’ve inflicted on you,” He mutters darkly, squeezing her gently. “Lene, you… You’re worth far more than every single one of those nobles put together. Damn them all and their gossip. I’d give you the world if you asked it.”

“Softie,” Lene murmurs, and then: “Thank you.” Closing her eyes, she can hear his heartbeat from her spot snuggled up to his chest, and it calms her. _Yes_ , she thinks, _this is what I can do to pay him back — to pay everyone back._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didnt forget this fic im just bad

It takes an  _ agonising  _ three weeks before Lene finds herself back in Darna. As she’s kindly helped down from the carriage by a knight, the sands trickle over her feet and the sun beats on her back in a manner that is oh so nostalgic.

Home. It is home, and Lene has missed it very, very much.

Of course, it’s not like she can get to work immediately; Darna has always been unique in Jugdral, at least from what she’s heard. Though Bramsel had his grip on the town as she grew up, she recalls the cleric who looked after the orphans telling her that Darna’s location makes it  _ odd  _ in the eyes of the rest of the continent. Close to Grannvale, Manster, and Isaach all at once, Darna has never been under official rule of any of them, despite its allyship with Grannvale. She had learned, growing up, that traditionally Darnan citizens would choose their own leaders, until Bramsel had been appointed under the Empire.

What this tradition leaves Lene with is very little information, however; right now, all dressed up in the colours of Agustria, she’s an  _ official ambassador  _ here to offer aid, but with very little clue of where to actually direct it. 

So. Her first task is to do just that.

“Kenneth,” She turns round to the knight who has been hovering meekly behind her. He’s a young thing, more a  _ squire  _ than knight, but there’s not much that can be done about that, with the lack of manpower Agustria has to spare. The reason he in particular has been sent with her, of course, is because he’s like her: dead weight. 

Still, he’s a sweet thing, and he can’t help but turn scarlet every time she talks to him, so Lene is rather fond of him.

“I’m going to take a walk,” She says. “I’d like to get a feel for what the town needs, and see if I can find whoever’s in charge right now. Okay?”

“I-I’ll come with you!” He squeaks, but she shakes her head, offering a smile.

“Thank you, but it’s fine. Darna’s my home. I’d like to just… See it again, just as me. You should all rest while I’m at it.”

Before he has a chance to protest, she takes off.

Darna has always been quiet, even in the worst of times. It’s something Lene appreciates about it. Not only is it peaceful, but it’s easy to attract attention when she starts to dance. In such a small place, people will naturally gather to a noisy attraction. If she wasn’t stuffed into a dress (that’s not exactly cut out for desert living, but it’s the best Agustria’s summer selections had to offer) she’d start up a crowd on her own, just to welcome herself back.

Ironic, then, that she seems to have been beaten to the punch. 

It’s not a massive crowd, but it’s still one guaranteed to bring in a profit. There’s no music but the sound of the people clapping, stamping their feet on the ground, and Lene can vaguely make out the sight of vibrant silks fluttering in the air. It’s a nostalgic sight; she certainly wasn’t the only dancer Darna had to offer, and what better way to teach yourself than through observation? For a moment, she feels like a child again as she pushes through the gathered throng to get a better view of the dancer.

She’s decked in reds and whites, which are unusual colours in Darna. A new face, then, but she’s not a little girl; an outsider, perhaps enjoying her travels in a newly freed world -- her hair is green, so perhaps she’s Silessian, like Fee and Ced. Whoever she is matters little, though, because how she dances is  _ beautiful _ . Her scarves flutter gracefully, not a single move wasted; her dancing is filled with such joy and  _ life  _ that Lene finds herself  _ spellbound,  _ no other word will suffice. It’s a true shame she’s never seen this woman dance before — the things she could have learned from her when she was still starting out!

The dancer comes to a stop too soon, and Lene dutifully joins in the applause. A few coins are tossed her way, but when it’s clear her routine has finished, the people disperse, leaving only the dancer and Lene behind. When she has finished collecting her offerings, Lene approaches.

“Your dancing was incredible,” She says, barely able to contain the awe in her voice. “I’m so glad I arrived in time to see it! You’re not from Darna, are you? I’m sure I’d have remembered seeing dancing like that if you were.” 

At last, the woman looks at her — seeing her now, Lene realises she’s older than she expected, even more unusual for a dancer. Well, good for her; a beautiful dancer is a beautiful dancer, even past the arbitrary ages set for them by men. When the woman smiles at her, it’s like the sun has come out — she’s  _ definitely _ broken some hearts with a smile like that.

“Why, thank you!” Her voice is youthful and sweet, and Lene decides she likes this woman very much indeed. “And as a matter of fact, I’m not. I’ve been stretching my legs and travelling now that the Empire’s been sent packing.”

“Well, I’m thrilled your travels brought you here!” Lene responds with a laugh. “Have you been in Darna long?”

“A few weeks by now, I think. I was originally looking for some people, but I got roped into the restoration efforts, so my stay’s been  _ slightly _ extended.” She snorts, though not unkindly. “Honestly, I don’t have anything better to do, so it’s not all bad.”

Well,  _ that  _ was fast, but frankly Lene’s pleased to have found a lead so quickly while she’s stuffed in this  _ dress _ in this heat.

“You don’t say! I’m actually here as an… Ambassador, on behalf of Grannvale and Agustria,” It still feels strange to think of the responsibility she’s been given. She purposely does not think about the fact that she's carrying the weight of two countries on her shoulders. “We’re here with supplies and a workforce for the relief effort, so I was looking for whoever’s in charge around here. I don’t suppose you’d be able to tell me, would you?”

“Now that’s something I can do!” The woman enthuses, and Lene’s troubles are forgotten instantly, simply by this woman’s aura and demeanour of pure  _ warmth _ . She’s got a lot of work to do before she’s a dancer like her, Lene supposes. “The current leader’s just a young thing, she’s got so much on her shoulders… She’ll be ecstatic to hear we’ve got support from the nobles themselves!”

That’s surprising, too, but perhaps Lene shouldn’t think like that; Ares is young, King Seliph is young, King Ced is young, so many young people thrust into responsibilities left to them by those they’d lost.

Really, the weights they carry make her own worries look like nothing in comparison, and she hates herself for being so wrapped up in herself to not even consider the pain of responsibility her comrades — her  _ friends  _ must be shouldering at the same time. But as much as she thinks that, she also knows the middle of a plaza is not the place for self-loathing, so she takes a deep breath and puts on her bravest smile.

“I’d like to see her, if you don’t mind showing me the way?”

“Not at all! Follow my lead!”

So she forces her mind to stop thinking, and does just that.

* * *

Darna Castle doesn’t hold many pleasant memories for Lene, which is why it’s an  _ incredible  _ relief that the current leader of Darna has deigned to use the Castle to house those who’d lost their homes instead of herself. The leader’s residence is no different from the other clay houses that make-up Darna’s architecture, and that already puts Lene at ease. She’d had  _ quite  _ enough of castles to last her a lifetime during her days in the Liberation Army, and any chance to not think of her castle home in Agustria is a welcome one. She recalls fondly the homes she had in Darna; homes just like this one, first the orphanage, then the little one-room she’d shared with Ares for years.

The dancer leaves her at the door to her destination, off to address other business, apparently. It leaves Lene with a moment to simply reminisce before entering, and her nerves are not nearly as fraught as they might have been if she’d had to deal with  _ another  _ gods-damned castle.

The sun’s brightness means it takes a moment for Lene’s eyes to adjust to the interior; she can make out a vague image of someone seated at a desk, and sounds, a pen scribbling on parchment, the rustle of clothing, a gasp—

“Lene!”

A voice oh-so familiar. She barely gets a moment to register her joy before she finds herself wrapped in an embrace so tight it nearly knocks the wind out of her.

“Laylea! It’s been so long! Who on  _ earth  _ decided to put you in charge around here?”

“Oh, don’t start,” Laylea releases her only to swat at her, but she’s laughing, and so is Lene. Finally able to see her properly, Lene realises that she hasn’t changed a bit since she left -- still smiling, still lovely, and still her dearest friend. “Someone had to pick up the pieces that Bramsel left us, and nothing was getting done with the old fogies around here wringing their hands all day. And what do you have to say for yourself, leaving me with all the slack?”

“You’ve always been the responsible one,” Lene replies breezily, barely able to contain more laughter at the look Laylea shoots her. “My little girl’s come into her own, I’m so proud…”

“I’m  _ older  _ than you!” Laylea swats her again, but the smile hasn’t left her face. “And here you are, come crawling back to me. Has that Ares finally gone and done it, hm? You always were too good for him.”

“Not in the slightest! Look at me, do you think I’d be wearing something like this if I wasn’t doing it for him?” She tugs at the dress with vague distaste. “This is a  _ summer  _ dress and it has a corset, Laylea. I had to spend an hour convincing them not to put it on or I’d die out here.”

“I was  _ wondering  _ what that was about. You look like you’re playing princess dress-up.”

“Don’t I? Ugh, I can’t believe I’m going to have to borrow your clothes again, we haven’t done that since we were kids.”

“And you think you can just invite yourself to my clothes, huh?” Despite her protests, she’s already moving to a chest resting by the back wall. Lene follows dutifully. “So? You haven’t shown up here after so long dressed like that for nothing, have you?” She rustles around in the chest for a moment, before throwing Lene a skirt.

“You got it,” Lene sets the skirt over the chair Laylea previously occupied, absently reaching behind for the clasps on her dress. “I’m here on behalf of the Kingdoms for relief. I spent too long just twiddling my thumbs in Agustira — can you get this button, I can’t reach it — so here I am.”

Immediately, Laylea turns her attention from the chest to help unfasten the offending clasp. As soon as the bodice is free, Lene exhales deeply, finally able to breathe again.

“Agustria got you down, then?”

“Unbelievably. It’s embarrassing actually. It took a letter from—” How does she introduce Coirpre? She pauses for a moment, then decides: “From my new brother to snap me out of it. So you can thank him when I finally introduce him to you that you got to see my lovely face again.”

“You are  _ insufferable _ ,” Laylea says fondly, moving to resume her search in the chest. “But your ‘new’ brother, huh? And how does one go about getting one of them? Does Ares have siblings or something?”

“Cousins,” Lene responds, shimmying out of the dress, and heaving a sigh of relief as it hits the floor with a  _ whump _ . “I think you’d like the two of them, they’re lovely. But no, Coirpre isn’t one of them. He’s a priest who joined the Liberation Army in Thracia, believe it or not, but he was apparently from Darna’s orphanage too. Who’d have thought, huh?” Laylea whistles, tossing a blouse her way.

“I suppose it isn’t too strange since we’re in the middle out here, but you certainly wouldn’t expect to find a Darnan in Thracia so easily. So you adopted him?”

“More like he adopted  _ me _ ,” She feels  _ so  _ much better in Laylea’s lighter clothing. She almost kicks the dress out the way, but that’s petty and unfair. It’s not the dress’s fault it comes from a much colder, snobbier country. “I feel like you must about Charlot. How is he, by the way?”

“He’s still around. He helps me take care of the people here. He’s a real trooper,” Laylea’s voice is filled with pride, and for the first time in her life, Lene understands. 

When she was young, she remembers feeling jealous of Laylea, for having a family, for having someone connected to her; since meeting Ares, the feeling had lessened, but a lover isn’t the same as family, and only  _ now  _ having met Coirpre does she truly know how Laylea must feel. 

“Speaking of, I assume you haven’t just turned up on your own, hm? You’d better have brought actual relief or I’m sending you back to Agustria tomorrow.”

“Rude! I always come prepared. I should probably get back to the caravan, actually, let them know I haven’t run away. You coming?”

“Obviously,” So saying, Laylea loops her arm through Lene’s as she guides them both back outside, and Lene realises again just how much she’s missed her. “I have to see all your fancy servants now that you’re a little princess.”

“Ugh! Don’t talk like that, you make me sound like some bratty noble.”

“Oh, you mean you aren’t now?”

“Don’t  _ you  _ start!”

* * *

She shouldn’t have stayed this long in Darna, but she can’t quite bring herself to leave.

The first thing Silvia had done when she’d arrived weeks ago was head straight to the orphanage, before anything else. She’s not fool enough to believe her children would be sitting there waiting patiently for her, of course; she’s not as naive as she once was, so long ago. But at the very least, she might know what happened to them, where they might be now, how she might find them again. 

As if she’d be so lucky. The cleric who greeted her there, a gentle blonde thing ( _ like Lady Edain was, what a painful thought _ ) was not the same one she left her children with. The previous cleric, Silvia had been told, had passed away long ago. All she could offer were her condolences, and flee.

It might not have been the worst day of Silvia’s life ( _ nothing would ever come close to near death, surrounded by her burning friends, searching desperately through the smoke for someone,  _ Naoise,  _ anyone,  _ please) but it was certainly close.

So no, she didn’t really have a reason to stay in Darna. And yet, Silvia finds that the thought of leaving makes her want to cry the way she did as a girl, but she’s found she hasn’t any more tears left to shed. Perhaps this is a punishment; her retribution for being a terrible mother and leaving them as orphans. She’d rationalised to herself back then, that no child — much less two  _ young _ children, her son only newborn — would be safe with their mother branded a traitor. She’d told herself there was no way she could keep the three of them safe. That if anything, leaving her ties to them behind would keep them safe, stop them from being hunted. Promised them both with tears in her eyes she would come back for them, when it was safe.

Was it the right thing to do, in the end? She still doesn’t know. She wonders if staying here is an act of torturing herself. To remind her every time she sees mothers with their children of what she has lost.

If there’s one thing Silvia is good at, she thinks, it’s losing things. Her first love. Her friends. Her  _ true  _ love. Her children. 

Some days she wonders if it would have been better if she’d simply perished back then.

She finds herself thinking this same line of thought in a tavern one evening, seated in a corner by herself. It’s not as though she hasn’t met people in Darna, especially not after she started working under Laylea with restoration efforts. People need deliveries, they need help rebuilding, they need help growing food. Sometimes, they just need a dance. Silvia can do that; anything to keep her mind from wandering, to keep theirs from wandering too. It’s not very different from what she’d do in the past, give or take some manual labour. It’s routine. It’s comforting. 

(Sometimes, when she gets lost in her dancing, she can pretend she hears Lewyn’s lute, Alec whistling, her friends clapping a rhythm for her to step to; pretends she’ll whirl around too fast like she did one day, so long ago, then she’ll open her eyes and Naoise will be there to gently admonish her for getting carried away, unable to look her in the eye, his cheeks flushed.

Sometimes, she thinks of holding Lene’s little hands in her own, when she was still learning to walk, balancing on Silvia’s feet, and she’d  _ whirl  _ and Lene would laugh so happily—)

She sits on her own because she doesn’t want to start crying into her ale around other people, but she doesn’t particularly want to cry  _ alone _ either, so she finishes her mug and gives her cheeks a light slap. If she starts wallowing now, she’ll want more alcohol, and if she wants more alcohol, she’ll be hungover, and then she won’t be able to work. Not being able to work means more  _ thinking _ , it’d be a never ending cycle. She needs something besides alcohol if she wants to avoid that fate, so she flags over one of the barmaids and hands her some silvers for something filling. 

It’s busier than usual in the tavern tonight; soldiers in Agustrian colours are milling around, which is certainly not something she’s seen here before. They must have arrived with the girl she’d met that morning. Well, Silvia’s certainly thankful the reborn governments cared enough to send them to help, but she can’t help but wonder  _ why  _ they’d go out of their way so soon after the war.

Maybe she shouldn’t. It’s Lord Sigurd’s son she’s talking about, here, and how proud must he and Lady Deirdre be up in heaven? She’d heard the tales in her hiding, of Lord Seliph and Prince Shannan rallying an army, reclaiming the lands. Every bit of news of their successes had lifted her heart. He must be like his father, kind to anyone in need, strong, brave. If there was a chance he’d remember her, she’d have loved to see him all grown up, but she’s not so naive as to think he would. Perhaps Shannan might have, but Isaach is still rebuilding, and what would she even say — “hello, I once knew King Shannan when he was only twelve years old, would you let me see him?” Absolute rubbish. They’d throw her out before she’d even finish speaking.

She’s stirred from her second round of gloomy thoughts —  _ honestly, Silvia, stop doing this to yourself, you’re making everything worse  _ — when a sudden murmur comes over the patrons. Looking up, someone is occupying the small stage at the back of the building, and it takes her a moment to realise that, speak of the devil, the occupant is none other than this morning’s girl. She looks so  _ different  _ out of that Agustrian dress, but Silvia means that nicely. She looks much more comfortable in a dancer’s garb.

A bard settles on a chair nearby, a lute in hand. He looks to the dancer, who nods, and it takes only a moment before music blooms; a bright and jaunty tune, the dancer taps out the rhythm with her feet,  _ one two three,  _ before she begins and she, too,  _ blooms. _

She’s not wearing any silks or ribbons, only her jewellery, and still, she’s utterly enchanting. Silvia can’t help but feel honoured that she’d been complimented by such a lovely dancer, watching her like this. She moves as if she is air, as if she is the wind; she does not  _ need  _ adornments because she is so beautiful like this alone, from the delicate arcs of her legs to the shine in her eyes. Every customer is spellbound by her; a man at the table next to her gestures excitedly to his friend, whispers something about  _ the dancing princess of the desert _ , and Silvia can’t say the name is undeserved. 

Her dance ends too soon. Silvia dutifully joins in the applause, and even offers a particularly loud wolf whistle. This catches the dancer’s attention, of course, and when she locks eyes with Silvia the smile on her face nearly blinds her. Her woes are all but forgotten, in the face of this performance; perhaps this is how she made her friends feel, so long ago. She thinks she’d like that, if that were the case.

The dancer weaves her way through the tables, offering a smile or a quick wave to the other patrons as she goes, but her destination is clear, and she invites herself to a seat at Silvia’s table without hesitation.

“It’s you!” She enthuses, and is then promptly interrupted by the barmaid returning with Silvia’s meal (her meal that, in truth, Silvia had completely forgotten about until this very moment). The moment the barmaid flits off again, though, she’s leaning over the table, eyes shining in a way that reminds her of old times...

And for a moment. Just a moment, Silvia wonders.

“It’s me,” Silvia agrees with a smile of her own, and pushes the thought from her head. No. As though she’d be so lucky. As though the gods would smile on her now. “You never told me you were a dancer this morning! Gave me a real shock seeing you up on stage like that.”

“I really didn’t look the part in that dress, did I?” The girl laughs in response. “I almost feel bad for it, I’ve done nothing but insult it all day.”

“Don’t blame you! I used to know a woman from Agustria, all her clothes looked like bear traps to me.” Silvia makes a face, and the girl laughs again. “So, are  _ you  _ from Darna then? Some of the regulars here were calling you some fancy title. Local fame, I take it?” 

At this, the girl goes slightly pink in the face, tucking a strand of her hair nervously behind her ear.

“Something like that,” She says, her eyes darting to the window for just a moment. “I grew up here, but I don’t know where I’m  _ from _ . Orphan, you’ve probably heard the story a thousand times.”

The flippant way she says it makes Silvia deeply sad, because even if it’s the truth, it’s a truth Silvia, too, has lived. 

There’s something else, too. That traitorous sense of  _ wondering _ . This girl’s hair is green, which could mean she’s Silessian in origin. It could mean she’s like Lewyn or Erinys, and that could be the end of the story.

On the other hand… A girl with green hair, a dancer, left in Darna. It could be nothing. It might crush Silvia’s heart to hear the truth. And yet...

“I understand. I was an orphan too, so… Well, I’m too old to be worrying about that  _ now _ , but when I was your age I felt the same way.” Hesitantly, Silvia reaches over her yet-untouched food and touches the girl’s hand gently. “I… Was raised by a man who forced me into dancing. Was it the same for you?”

“No… I’m so sorry that happened to you,” As if encouraged by her words, the girl returns the grip on Silvia’s hand. “I became a dancer to look for my mother.”

It takes every bit of power in Silvia’s body to keep breathing normally. Hope, she’s found, is an  _ incredibly  _ dangerous thing to have.

“You’re from a family of dancers, then?”

“I suppose… It’s the only thing I know about her. She left me at the orphanage with only a sword, or so I was told. So I thought perhaps following in her footsteps would lead me to her.” The dancer is giving her a look; quizzical, puzzled, and something else she can’t place. 

Silvia wonders if, perhaps, this young girl is  _ wondering  _ the same things she is. But unlike this girl… There is something Silvia can ask, to know for certain. One final test, to see if perhaps the gods  _ have _ taken pity on her at last.

“You know,” She says, and wills her voice to stay strong, wills herself to put on a smile and power through just like always. She has to smile, smile, smile, no matter what the response is. “I just realised I never heard your name. I’ve asked so much about you, and I didn’t even think! You can call me Silvia, by the way.”

She smiles so much it makes her cheeks ache as the girl hesitates for a moment, and then—

“My name is Lene,” Her daughter says.

And for the first time in a long time, Silvia begins to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some notes  
> \- silvia does not know edain is alive  
> \- lene's title is from the oosawa manga  
> \- silvia and lachesis were great friends and you can take this from my cold dead hands
> 
> next chap might be an interlude of sorts... thinking of time-travelling and getting some naoise/silvia off my chest. how i met ur father

**Author's Note:**

> i haveeeeee most of chapter two all written, i'm just deciding where to take it after that. i dont think this'll be longer than like... 4 chapters at most. we'll see. i wish i had a beta reader
> 
> their dad in this fic is naoise btw. idk if im gonna mention it in the fic so im saying here bc my friend got me hooked on naoise/silvia and now my life will never know peace until they get some god damn content


End file.
